'A beauty.' There's a touch of compassion in the words, a sentiment echoed in the way he brushes the fingertips of one hand along the spines of the books on the nearby shelf. 'They seldom build them so well, nowadays.'

A few steps move him closer to the stretch of windows at the very stern of the ship. The view through the glass is hazy, as if the Endeavour is shrouded in fog.

'Why am I here, Mister Norrington?'